


Excavate - Moments in time

by QuietlyImplode



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Awesome Clint Barton, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, One Shot Collection, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Red Room (Marvel), Tumblr Prompt, lucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:26:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: Series of one shots, drabbles and ficlets - mostly Clint/Nat centric
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 60
Kudos: 60





	1. Colours

**Author's Note:**

> No Order. Heed warnings at the start.

If Natasha was to compartmentalise parts of her life into colours.

_This world is not made of shades of grey. It is made of colours like azure and coral and emerald and marigold. But it insists on painting everything in black and white and fitting it into boxes that it understands. Do not do that to yourself. Paint your personality a million different colours. Leave them scratching their heads, unsure of how to handle the magic that you are. - Nikita Gill, Colours_

If Natasha was to compartmentalise parts of her life into colours, then she would call time with her family red. 

Red hair that brought her up, red fire that brought them down. 

She’d call the red room **black**. 

Ironic isn’t it. A place that called itself red, was more like the dark depths of fear and anguish; no hope, no colour to help alleviate the darkness, but also no way to mark the stains on their souls. Black on Black. 

She would never call anything she touched or was a part of, as white. Leave that for others that had not been tainted by the blackness of the red room. 

She would call the time in Shield as grey; like the logo and the emblem. That brief stretch of time where things weren’t black but not quite colourful - colours can now infiltrate but they are dulled by rules and regulations and fear of the unknown.

But then there’s Clint. 

The magic that he is brings not just one colour but an array. With him she sees a million different colours and it’s like learning to breathe in a different way; it takes time and practice to see these things but with him she learns that things do not need to be black or red or grey.

With Clint she can see the blue calm of the ocean and tranquillity of the sky. She can see the enthusiasm of orange, the pride of purple and romance of pink. Mostly though, she sees the green of safety and opportunity that flies in the face of everything she’s ever learnt and knows.

When she’s with him it’s colours on colours. And she wouldn’t change that for anything.


	2. Five Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five Songs - Five moments in time

**1/ St Ides**

_Crawling the broken fences, when shit gets hard  
You know who your friend is  
And when I lose perspective  
Need to go to a place where I lose reception _

“I just need a friend; not a lecture,” Natasha says quietly.

“Can I sit next to you?” Clint asks standing behind her.

“We’re on the top of a random building in New York, how’d you even find me?”

“Sometimes you come here when you’re sad. How can I not know?” Clint shifts from foot to foot, looking at her nervously. She’s sitting on the edge of the building. A move that would normally be his shiitic.

“You can sit.” Natasha swings her legs from back over the edge and looks at him. Jumping down, she slides down the wall and sits. Crossing his legs he sits next to her.

Tentatively he reaches for her hand, covering her fingers lightly.

They sit in silence, the remnants of the failed mission floating away in the moonlight.

**2/ Toy Soldiers**

_I’m supposed to be the soldier who never blows his composure  
Even though I hold the weight of the whole world on my shoulders _

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Clint is furious. Angry doesn’t cover it, furious doesn’t touch it.

“I was thinking that we would lose more people if I didn’t.” It’s justified. Natasha thinks. What’s one life if so many more are at stake. Which Clint then calls her out on.

“At the cost of your own life?”

Yes, she thinks. Judging by his pacing, it’s not the answer he wants. She could placate him now or fight on this one. It’s an argument she knows is going to come up again. Fuck this. Let’s fight this one out.

“What the hell do you know? I made the right call. Without me they wouldn’t be on the quinjet back, without me we’d be at a funeral, without me..”

No more funerals. At least in the red room, there was no wakes, no funerals. She can’t stand the grief and the outpouring of emotions.

“You know what? Shut up. You made the wrong call, and it’s shear fucking dumb luck that you all made it out.” Natasha stares at him. Not luck. Clear plan, followed through by skill. Dangerous, maybe but not suicidal.

“So what? Just because you don’t have the guts to do it..” as soon as the words fly out, Natasha knows it’s a step too far.

“Fuck you and your fucking high horse.” Clint stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

.

They’re paired together 2 weeks later in a mission to Latvia. The tension bleeds through every interaction.

They’re made to share a room and it ends in another fight.

This time it’s physical.

It starts by Clint not observing personal space.

By the end of it, Clint has a black eye and Natasha has a knife wound on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t wrong though.” Natasha says passing him an ice pack.

“Maybe not, but either was I.” Clint passes her gauze.

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

**3/ Are you with me?**

_I wanna dance by water ‘neath the Mexican sky  
Drink some Margaritas by a string of blue lights  
Listen to the Mariachi play at midnight  
Are you with me, are you with me? _

“I love you.” Natasha says flippantly, grabbing her drink and clinking it with Clint’s on the table.

“You’re drunk,” Clint laughs.

“Not enough to not know what what I’m saying. I love you.” She repeats.

“You’re serious.” Clint deadpans and laughs. “You’re serious.”

Natasha stretches out on the lounger, “as a heart attack.” She replies.

“I love you too, Nat.” Clint holds out his hand to grab hers and she grabs it, miss reading his intention and kisses the back of his hand.

**4/ Konstantine**

_I can’t imagine all the people that you know  
And the places that you go  
When the lights are turned down low  
And I don’t understand  
All the things you’ve seen  
But I’m slipping in between  
You and your big dreams  
It’s always you in my big dreams _

Natasha’s twitchy all day.

And the next.

It sets Clint on edge.

He tries to leave her to her coping. Whatever has triggered her this time isn’t bad (it’s not great), it’s not set off her ptsd (that he can tell) but it is frustrating (him).

She doesn’t stop moving, she doesn’t sleep and she’s more short tempered than usual. He forgot to take out the washing and she all but bit his head off.

He tries to stay away from her, spending more time in the gym, goes food shopping and the hides with Maria in her office.

By day 3, he’s had enough. Calls her out on it. Asks her what’s wrong and gets his head bitten off. Wrong move apparently.

He’s in the kitchen where he finds the writing pad where they write shopping lists, notes and messages to each other. There’s ashes in the sink next to it, a tell tale sign Natasha has burnt whatever her brain has been thinking. He shouldn’t. He wants to know. Any insight is better than not knowing.

He takes a pencil from the drawer and rubs it over the top of the paper. He feels more detective like than he’s felt in ages. She hasn’t hidden what she wrote well. But, he supposes, she didn’t expect him to be snooping.

There’s four sentences, written in her small neat handwriting. Each one drops him harder than the last.

_I don’t know what’s wrong, I try and sleep and my dreams are.._

_He’s going to leave._

_This is an exercise in futility_

_What’s wrong with me?_

He covers his tracks, ripping the paper up and depositing it in bins around the apartment and goes in search of her.

She’s at the gym, sweating through whatever is going on. Acknowledging him with a nod she continues. He waits til she’s done and when she’s finally finished half an hour later, she turns.

He stands and goes over to her, and hugs her. Holds tight when she tries to pull away. Continues to hold it til he feels her melt into him. He tries to convey everything into it and squeezes tighter when she finally wraps her arms around him.

**5 / work song**

_When my time comes around  
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth  
No grave can hold my body down  
I’ll crawl home to her _

They’re in the hospital laying in beds side by side.

Clint wakes first, panicking she’s not next to him.

Setting off all the alarms, he falls out of bed and pulls himself over to her, pushes her across and lays next to her.

Safe at last.


	3. Weather

“Aw rain, no.” Clint says dramatically, staring out the window. He pouts as he traps back to bed and pulls the covers over his head as Natasha pokes her head out.

“No picnic today?” She asks, peeking into the darkness that Clint’s balled himself into.

The muffled ‘no’ is so sad that she can’t help but laugh at his theatrics.

.

“It’s too hot.” Natasha complains.

“It’s fine. It hasn’t even hit 100,” Clint rolls his eyes.

“This is not fine, Clint.” Natasha has sprawled herself on the floor, under the air conditioner. “I’m melting.”

Clint laughs, “just wait till tomorrow; it’s going up to 107.”

Natasha groans and resembles a starfish on the floor.

.

Clint stares wondrously and walks outside to let the snow fall on him.

“It’s like you’ve never seen snow before,” Natasha admonishes from the front door.

“Natasha. It’s a snow day.” He says, exasperated with her negative attitude.

“For you, snow was fun. For me. It wasn’t.” She treks back into the house leaving Clint feeling bad.

.

Clint pulls the car around, breathing deeply. He’s closer now he can smell it. Looks over to Natasha who’s staring intently at the sun setting over the water on the beach.

“I’ve missed it,” she says reverently. “I can’t wait to read my book in the sunshine on a towel and do _nothing_.”

Clint pats her hand, and pulls his sunglasses off.

“Me too,” he says smiling.

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint have a baby, it’s not all smooth sailing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, the following discusses post-natal depression. There are some links at the end if this is a concern for you or anyone you love. Take care of yourselves. (Also there are very very few AU’s I like - so this is not my fav).

The kid is 6 months old. Natasha wants to go back to work. She’s struggling with this and Clint can see it. She’s never spent so long in one place, never been tethered to someone or been responsible for another in the most intimate of ways.

He knows of post natal depression, been given flyers by the doctors when they’d seen blank looks when they’d asked Natasha about development and feedings. 

They’d turned to Clint for answers and he’d easily responded, holding onto his son and squeezing Natasha’s hand, hoping to push life into it. He’s not sure that’s what this is. He’s not sure of anything anymore. He loves his son. He loves Natasha, but he’s not sure how Natasha feels. He should know how she feels.

He sees them sitting together, and the wonder in her eyes. Notices when she brushes her hands over his face at bath time. Watches as she tenderly kisses the palms of his hands and tickles his feet. Clint also sees the disquiet in her face when he cries, has seen her cry more in the last couple of months than he ever has. He researches all he can, asks for advice, calls helplines and talks her through everything. 

She’s not dumb, she knows something is wrong, she’s working as hard as he is- probably more so.

The thing is she’s always had difficulty putting emotions and feelings into words and this requires talking and words she doesn’t have yet. They go to therapy and learn more about themselves than ever, and he thanks his son daily for the coping mechanisms he’s inadvertently given.

He works harder, at loving her.

He spends more time at home, goes with her to the doctor and translates what’s been happening. She sometimes looks to him with shock at all that he’s noticed (but he doesn’t have the name of Hawkeye for nothing). He cooks for her, makes sure she eats, makes sure she sleeps. 

Rest doesn’t come easily but he’s found tricks that work; baby close, tv on and him reading by her side - offerings to read out loud if she closes her eyes and rests. They’re on indefinite leave, money isn’t an issue, not from their jobs - they’re paid handsomely and have savings that could last lifetimes.

Sometimes it’s hard going.

Sometimes it’s easier.

By Christmas, things are better, but he doesn’t let up. He doubles down.

Recruits Tony and Steve to help him decorate the house inside and out, whilst she spends the day at the zoo with the kid and Pepper and Morgan. He trusts Pepper to take care of his little family, protect Natasha from the demons that invade her mind only sometimes now and knows they’ll talk about things that are mundane and normal.

He doesn’t decorate the tree though. He leaves it for them to do as their first time as a family.

The look on her face when she gets home is worth it all and more. Their son is asleep in her arms as he plonks a Christmas hat on her head to match the one on his. He gently removes the kid, and coos at him as he gristles. He laughs as she puts Christmas music through the speaker and pulls her into a hug that turns into dancing with their son pinned between them.

They head into the new year with renewed vigor, hope and trust in each other, making wishes that this year will be easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUS - https://raisingchildren.net.au/pregnancy/health-wellbeing/mental-health/antenatal-postnatal-depression
> 
> UK - https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/postnatal-depression-and-perinatal-mental-health/about-maternal-mental-health-problems/
> 
> US -https://www.womenshealth.gov/mental-health/mental-health-conditions/postpartum-depression


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria’s friendship with Clint and Natasha, and how it started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Single sentence referring to a panic attack.

Her friendship with Maria, Natasha decides, starts in an airport. Natasha is handcuffed to Clint and they’re both wearing bruises, injuries and suspicion on their faces.  
Maria looks her up and down and takes the handcuffs off her wrists and puts Natasha in her car, and drives her to an undisclosed detention site.

“Are you ok?” She directs at Natasha. 

It’s not in a kind way, but in a way that definitely shows her who is the boss in this scenario. 

It’s an odd question. It’s not invasive, it’s not interrogative and it questions her wellbeing. Not at all like the Red Room or the KGB. It’s something that solidifies her decision to stay.

She doesn’t answer.

Maria is the one that brings her meals, redresses her wounds and debriefs her. They are as stoic as each other and there’s a solidarity in that.

When Maria finds out Natasha has triggers around Makarov pistols, she doesn’t play on it, doesn’t use it for Shield’s gains and talks her down from self harm when the trigger builds into a meltdown. Maria speaks Russian to her and rocks with her until the her voice pierces the worry and stress that the gun is going to be used on her and against her. 

Maria makes sure Clint is close for the rest of the week and clears Natasha for use of the gun range.

Years later when Clint and Natasha are together, she’s the one Natasha goes to when Clint is annoying her, and trusts her to answer questions truthfully and honestly. 

Maria holds for Natasha all she ever wanted in the Red Room, a confidante and a friend.  
.

Clint is relieved when he sees Maria’s face when he steps off the plane with Natasha handcuffed to his wrist. She signals and signs with her right hand questioning him on what he’d like her next moves to be, to which he quickly signs back, ‘keep her safe.’ She takes the handcuffs off them and removes Natasha from his side.

Maria gives him daily updates on how she is going. He’s experiencing the wrath of Fury and he’s not allowed to see her, much to his annoyance. Maria is his only tether to her wellbeing and he’ll always be thankful for her support at that time.

When Maria tells him of Natasha’s triggers to specific Russian guns, his heart breaks. Maria comes to him that night, with heavy drinks and just says she needs to forget what’s just happened inside the detention cell. 

The inebriation doesn’t loosen her tongue but does make her say that Clint needs to learn Russian. She also gets both Natasha and Clint clearance for the gun range the next week.

Clint watches their relationship develop from one of mutual respect to the ease that comes of years of friendship, of missions won and lost and that secret language that only women seem to have. 

Clint is very thankful for her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that trope where someone’s injured and lying on the floor unable to move and their friend/lover/family member is standing over them battered and bloodied like, _you will not touch them. You’ll have to go through me?_  
>  That. That is a good™️ trope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all the above tropey goodness - content warnings of discussion of torture and rescue.   
> Plus protective Steve Rogers.

When they finally dump Natasha back into the cell, she’s completely non-responsive. No matter how much Clint calls out to her, yells or tries to softly wake her with his voice, nothing gets through.

They really did their homework on the two of them, separated then joined to see the errors of not talking, rinse repeat.

.

Clint knows it’s his turn next, they’ll come in the room, and unshackle him, and then beat him to a pulp or it will be the cattle prod (which it seems they did to Natasha, judging by the burn marks that litter her body), and he’ll say something sassy which will then result in further beatings, and then be thrown back in here, tied up and left.

He wonders where the others are, surely they know that they are here. He hopes that they’ve worked it out that they were a diversionary tactic to get to Tony’s weaponry - send the others on goose chases whilst they infiltrate the Avengers compound and steal anything they can get their hands on. 

Clint hopes it has not been that easy - he’s sure Natasha would not have told them anything they’ve been asking, entrance codes, passwords to shut down Jarvis, tower defences. He knows he hasn’t. He has been making lots of other noise though.

Looking over to Natasha again, he’s concerned that she hasn’t moved - at all. He can see the slight rise and fall of her chest and the sluggish trail of blood that trails down her lip onto her chin. He wonders if she bit her tongue. Nothing to be done about it now. Clint tests the chains again, no give. He watches the shadows dance outside the room, letting him know it’s his turn next.   
He sighs hard. 

Come on Tony.

.

Natasha wakes to blasts she recognises as Tony’s repulsers and for the first time in a couple of days she feels hope. She slowly opens her eyes as much as they will go and peers around, looking for Clint. 

She’s heard his yells, his curses when they’d pushed her body back into the cell and placed the shackles back on her limp wrists and ankles but hadn’t had enough wherewithal to answer, preferring to sink into the darkness that was safe.

She spots his prostate body, not looking better than she, and calls out. He doesn’t respond. Fuck. Natasha thinks to herself. She moves towards him, only realising that her restraints only stretch so far. She’s lucky that she manages to touch his hand and feel the warmth bleed into hers. 

She breathes deep, knowing that if his body is warm, he’s alive.

Pain lances as her body shakes, she bites the inside of her mouth and feels it fill with blood. The sounds are louder now, but she’s completely spent her energy getting over here, when they do come she’s not going to be any good. Instead, she tries to curl her body in a way that if they come in guns blazing to take out the hostages, hers is the one that gets hit first.

.

Steve rounds the corner and sees the thick steel door, he peeks through the tiny window and sees a flash of red hair and two bodies next to each other. His stomach drops hard. Placing small charges on the wall next to the door, he blasts a hole inside. Shit. Fuck. 

Profanities litter his mind as he looks at his friends. He works on Natasha’s restraints first, pulling them out of the wall. He need a key or even something to cut them off her - things he doesn’t have at the moment. He can hear guns and repulser shots, and then is suddenly met with three of the Hydra cell standing in front of him.

Placing his body between Clint and Natasha, he growls. “You will not touch them. You’ll have to go through me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of turning this into a longer one, but not sure. Any interest?


	7. Tropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tropes are great and so, here are 3 tropes;  
> 1/ There are people chasing us  
> 2/ There's only one bed  
> 3/ Your wearing my jumper

**1/ There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close.**

It’s one of their first missions together, that happens to be in the December snow. Clint messages Phil and lets him know that things are going fine. Natasha has been stoic but competent. They’ve been surveilling the grey hood leader for the last 3 days, boredom apparent in all their interactions as the days hedge closer to Christmas. Nothing has happened whatsoever and the same people filter in and out of the house.

In a display of trust, Clint had sent Natasha’s out for food, hoping she’d not run and stay true to her words and promises of loyalty. Clint has been staring down the sniper scope for the past hour, alternating between the binoculars sitting on his left. His eyes hurt, and his back is sore from maintaining hunched positions for long periods. Sighing, Clint picks up the binoculars again, and settles in to watch the alley way nearby.

He looks up in shock and double takes when he sees Natasha running down the alley with three goons sprinting after her. “Fuuuuckkk.” Clint mutters time himself. He grabs his handgun and drops down out of the window and shoots the first man, the one closest to Natasha, in the head.

“Do not engage, they said. Easy mission, they said.” Clint mutters, as he stands his ground between the other two and Natasha.

Natasha looks to where the shot comes from and follows Clint’s movement, rounding on the other two. As they stand face to face with Natasha’s attackers, Clint realises they aren’t members of the Grey Hood, in fact, Clint quickly determines by their faces and tattoos, they are of the Red Room.

“There’s more coming.” Natasha divulges as Clint exchanges gun shots, both of them taking off in a sprint and the two men hide from the bullets.

“Of course there is.” Clint says, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Here!” Natasha grabs Clint’s hand and pulls him into a side street.

Suddenly they’re breathing each other’s air, standing face to face. Clint’s face must betray shock because Natasha can’t help but laugh. It’s the first time Clint’s seen her face change from stoicism, and of course it’s when they’re being chased by her former employer. Clint rolls his eyes and takes off running again, grabbing her hand as he does.

“Come on!” He shouts.

.

**2/ There’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling.**

Natasha groaned. Shield was known to be cheap, but sometimes their choice of safe house was shocking. This particular one looked like it was straight out of little Italy, heavy doors and a musty smell. The rooms were more than sufficient to stay in; a kitchen and a bedroom that was furnished albeit sparsely.

The television was a boxed monstrosity that turned on by a knob on the side. The ancientness of the whole room screamed and that was before Natasha set eyes on the bed. It was massive, and there was no room either side to stand let alone lay down. It was large enough that they could both rest on it, and not touch.

They’re both ready to drop. She can see the tiredness in Clint’s movements, the rubbing of his ears, the repeated ‘what’ to questions, and the slight clumsiness of his reactions betray that he’s running on fumes like she is.

She makes it to the bathroom to brush her teeth and nods at the bed. “Pick a side.” She motions.

“Don’t care. Too tired.” Clint replies dropping on the mattress and closing his eyes. He’s almost instantly asleep, and Natasha hates him a little for it.

She climbs under the covers and tries to make her brain stop working, tries to quieten the thoughts that roll around and around in her head.

Natasha dreams of guns and death, of childhoods and missions gone wrong. She dreams of cold and unspoken words and though it’s not a particularly restful sleep, it’s better than she’s been sleeping lately. She rouses to light contact on her arm, it’s not oppressive and oddly comforting, the warmth seeps into her skin where Clint’s fingers are touching.

Opening her eyes, she turns into Clint. He’s still asleep, breathing deeply. Turning her back slowly, she rotates so that she’s in Clint’s arms. She hopes he will just think that they woke up like this and subconsciously think it’s just happened. She falls into a light sleep surrounded by Clint’s warmth.

**3/ Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it**

“Tasha!!? Did you do the washing again? You’ve shrunk my hoodie!” Clint yells through the house.

Natasha pops her head from the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth, and laughs uproariously at him.

“You idiot,” she says, somewhat unkindly. “That’s my hoodie.”

—


	8. Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 times Natasha might have said “I love you” for the first time, and the one time she was sure she meant it.

_1/_

She never remembers telling her mother that she loves her, she hopes that she did at some point. When she thinks about her past (it’s not something she dwells on, to many demons and trauma in that), she likes to think that it was only good times with her family. She does remember telling her father that she loves him. She isn’t sure if it was the first time, but the memory is one that she holds close, because it’s not tainted in blood and death. 

_2/_

There was 12 girls in her dormitory. She slept next to Ana and Yelena on either side. Oh the things they would tell each other. There was something comforting about having a secret keeper, to hold onto your name and past, especially when time was short and the next day was never guaranteed, this they knew to their core. After Ana went crazy and killed the man coming into their dormitory, Yelena would hold her non cuffed hand out and they would hold hands, despite the discomfort. Solidarity in sisterhood. Natasha curled her fingers and held on tighter some nights, whispered ‘I love you’ only to hear Yelena whisper it back. 

_3/_

Coulson was there for her when no-one else was, his guiding principles and steadfast nature. She visits his grave in the dead of night, touches his headstone and says it out loud, just to see how it tastes in her mouth. She thinks it’s true, hopes that it’s not a lie.

_+1/_

Natasha sits next to Clint in a debrief room. The mission could not have gone any worse. She thinks one of the perhaps could have got captured or maybe tortured, or even died but the results from this one will have lasting impacts in the way they infiltrate and carry out missions. 

She’s exhausted, and knows Clint is too. She looks at the lines on his face, the worry that pours from him his eyes as Fury insists on pointing out everything that they did wrong, shows them the bodies of those they failed and chews them out in every way that feels like a punch in the gut. 

When it’s finally over, she drags Clint to medical, sets the example and gets seen to first before gesturing to him to get his ribs wrapped and a shot of antibiotics for his various cuts that litter his body. She order pizza and makes him sit at the table to eat. 

They eat in silence, Natasha watching over Clint. She takes in his movements, the delicate way he pushes his food around, and how he rests his leg on her chair. He notices her, and feels the irritation of run through him at her intense gaze.

“Stop staring.” Clint spits. 

“I love you,” spills out of Natasha’s mouth before she has time to filter it or even think through the repercussions. 

As soon as it’s out, she runs. Leaves the room, leaves the compound. 

What has she done? The feeling of doom and the need to be anywhere not here, is overwhelming. Natasha doesn’t actually know where she plans to go, home is with Clint, in their room with all their minimalistic things. She just keeps running until her lungs are burning and all she can think of is getting air in and out of her lungs. She starts up again when she remembers what she’s done and like the mission they’ve just completed, knows that this will have lasting effects.


	9. I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exchange of ‘i love you’.

She told Clint she loved him. She’s not built for these emotions.

Natasha feels like throwing up.

She must have run at least ten miles and pushed her body to almost breaking. Breathing is currently an issue, and sucking in breath and blowing it out is currently the only thing that stopping her from thinking about the monumental mistake of what she’s just done.

But it’s all she can think about.

She told Clint she loved him.

She’s not built for these emotions.

Never learnt what it really means, but this is something she feels in her heart is bigger than her body; and the words, they just slipped out. She knows it means it changes things; that it’s a big scary statement that you can’t take back once it’s out.

And now she’s goddamn scared.

What has she done?

She left in such a hurry, she’d forgotten her phone, and anything else that would help her right now. She can’t even call a cab, not that she has anywhere to go. She can’t go home to Clint, she’s too scared of his response, his inevitable rejection.

Taking a deep breath, she finally has her breathing under control, and lets a shaky breath out. The nauseousness has gone somewhat, but comes back when she remembers what’s just happened and the look of shock on his face.

Fuck. Pull yourself together, she chastises herself.

She heads to the bench in a nearby park and sits, realizing she’s in only in a hoodie and shorts. She must look like a real mess. She sinks her head into her hands and groans.

.

Clint watches her lips and leans in as the words come out of Natasha’s mouth.

She loves me? The words don’t seem real.

The look of shock and horror that then follow. She’s bolting out the door before Clint can so much as close his mouth, the pizza sliding from his hands. He grabs his keys and phone and bolts after her, hoping the deadlock catches.

She’s better at running than he is, always has been, can run laps around him. Clint hates running but it’s decidedly easier when he’s chasing Natasha. He only manages to gain on her minimally when she stops to suck in a breath, and tries calling out her name - it comes out as a wheeze.

When this is sorted, he decides, he needs to get fitter. His ribs were wrapped by medical less than than an hour ago and the pang of pain is enough to keep him grounded. It’s also slowing him down. He runs holding his ribs, the pain now shocky and breathing difficulties sends black spots into his vision. He has to stop and suck in some shallow breaths before starting again.

He has no idea where she’s heading; but logically he can guess what paths she took. He has so stop again, gathers his bearings and looks down the crossroads.

He’s fucking lost her. He tries calling her mobile but it rings out.

She can’t have gone too far. If he can get up high, maybe he’ll be able to see her. Moving quickly, he scrambles to the nearest building and parkours up the drainpipe, each movement sending pain down his body. He gets to the top and has a bird eye view of the town. He looks for anything that could be her and sees a figure sitting on a bench. Natasha.

Clint makes his way to her, slowly. If she runs now, he hasn’t got a hope in catching her.

“Tasha?” He calls softly, “can I sit next to you?”

She looks up in shock and eyes off running.

“Please don’t leave,” he catches, “please?”

She shrugs, continues to hide her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry.” She says, mournfully. “I can stop, I just.. I just need some time, maybe apart? I..”

“Stop?” Clint questions, “stop what?”

Natasha looks him in the eye. “Stop loving you.”

“What? Why?” His heart hurts. “Natasha, I love you too.” He admits, he’s on a rollercoaster ride, and they’re the only passengers, steering this stupidity. He grabs her then, presses his lips to hers and feels her hands move to his face to hold him there for just a second longer.

“You love me, too?” She whispers, their foreheads touching gently.

“Always and forever.” Clint whispers back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me a story," Clint asks.

“Let me tell you a story,” Natasha says softly, stroking Clint’s hair, picking the bits of dried blood away.

“There was once a little girl, who had a horrible childhood.”

He breathes slowly in and out.

“Her parents died and those that took her on were not kind to her.” She pauses. “Stop me if you’ve heard this before.”

Clint hums and smiles and shakes his head.

“The little girl survived, but only just. She didn’t believe that people could be good. She believed that she wasn’t good because no one had told her. She hid from the world in the darkest of places. But the darkness always found her.”

Clint lifts his head. “You can only continue if this has a happy ending,” he comments.

“Shh.” Natasha placates. “Of course it does.”

Clint rests his head back down, “continue.”

“The girl grew up. She did not like who she was. She didn’t know what do to with herself and she became more and more sad. She did work that took her to exotic places and met strange people but still, she wanted to escape.”

“Tash..”

“Shhhh, we’re getting to the good bit.”

“One day, the girl had finished work and she met a boy. The boy had been chasing her around the world, but she didn’t know. “ they both smile.

“The boy had kind eyes like she had never seen before, nobody had looked at her with kind eyes. And then, he did something that she did not expect. He offered her a chance to work together.” Clint turns to face her, wanting to see her face.

“She wasn’t sure, so she ran away, but still the boy chased her and asked her again. This time, she said yes.”

Natasha shifts, laying her cast on Clint’s chest and shifting her hips so shes comfortable.

“Then what?” He prompts.

“Work was hard but fun with the boy and his friends. For the first time, she felt like she belonged, she had found a place where she could close her eyes and not feel sad.”

“And now?” Clint asks quietly.

“Now, now she gets to be with the boy all the time, they even live together. He chases away the demons and the bad dreams, he’s everything she wishes she had when she was little.”

Clint nuzzles into her more.

“What’s going to happen next?”

“The girl and the boy are going to buy a house and live happily ever after.”

“Really?” Clint says looking up, surprise on his face.

Natasha closes her eyes and nods her head. “Yeah… that’s the dream, a place of their own.”

Clint kisses each of her fingers.

“We’ll get there,” he assures, and hugs her tight.

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for aftermath of a mission gone wrong, and a panic attack.  
> I would love to do more with this one, but we will see.

They’ve managed to get Clint conscious, his tired eyes following Tony’s pacing.

“Where’s Tasha?” He asks, the drugs slurring his words. Clint tries to get up, but Steve pushes him back down.

“We need your help,” Tony explains, “Natasha isn’t doing well, she’s not letting us help.”

“Clint, she won’t come out of the jet for the doctors to look at her. We got you out and bandaged you up, thinking she’d follow you, but she didn’t, and now she’s..”

Clint doesn’t wait to hear the rest, he swings his legs over the stretcher and pauses, Steve moves underneath his arm and they help him to where Natasha is.

Clint sighs when he sees her, he knows those eyes. She’s backed herself in between two cargo holds. Her hands hidden in her hair, eyes unseeing and locked in trauma. She’s made herself as small as possible.

“You need to leave,” he says firmly to Tony and Steve. “Now.” It’s the clearest he’s been since he woke up. Maybe it’s the pain killers, or maybe it’s Natasha.

Tony and Steve exchange a look. “The camera is on, right?” Clint reasons, “just come get us when it looks safe or we are both out cold.”

Clint makes it the rest of the way by himself, and watches as the other two leave. He breathes deep, he doesn’t feel equal to this right now. He’s so tired.

He takes her in, she sees right through him, eyes not in this time or space, the retreat complete and catatonic is the only word he’d use to describe her.

He places himself next to Natasha, put his hand on his knee palm up, just like they used to.

“Tasha. You’re not there. You’re safe. You’re here with me.” He starts.

“Tasha. You’re not there, you’re safe, you’re here with me.” He repeats. He says it over and over, hoping one time she’s going to tune in.

He moves his body, ribs pinching and his stomach aching, and inadvertently touches her.

Her reaction is big, hands flying up to hit out, body moving away, moans punctuate the air as her body revolts against the moment.

It’s then he sees what someone’s tried to do, something that’s kept her grounded in the past. They’ve wrapped her wrists. The well meaning idiots have doomed her, all the pain she’s in, all the suffering she’s been through might have started this decent into panic, but the wrapping of her wrists cemented it.

“Tasha. Natasha. It’s Clint. I need to touch you.” He says, slowing his cadence.

Her eyes are wild, pupils are dilated and the hyper vigilant movements means that’s she’s not even taking him in. He takes a chance and grabs her face, making her eyes lock with his and touches his forehead to hers. “Tasha, stop. Breathe.” He whispers to her face.

She panics and tries to pull away, he holds her, hoping to ground her with his movement and pressure. No words come out of her mouth, but he can see the stress. Feels her breathing quicken to the point she’s almost growling when she breathes out. Clint’s thumbs rub across her temples in hopes to ground her more, and he sees it working as her hands reach up to hold onto his as her breathing slows to meet his.

Reaching across he unwraps one wrist, slowly, carefully repeating his previous words. Tells her she’s with him and not there. Tells her she’s safe. Keeps saying it until both wrists are unwrapped and free, and then slowly pulls her into his lap and kisses the top of her head.

.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has one option to salvage the mission - Natasha isn't so happy about the option he chose.

_Shooting through a friendly to hit a target is a tricky thing to pull off. There are only a few places on the human body that can take a gunshot without severing a major artery or destroying a vital organ. Getting shot on the inside of the shoulder won’t kill you quickly but almost any gunshot will kill you if you give it enough time.“ (Burn Notice)_  
-  
"I was fine!!” Natasha says frustration in her words mixed with the pain in her shoulder. 

“Nat, you were not fine. He was using you as a shield against whoever the fuck that 3rd party was. You’re just lucky I’m a good shot.”

“No. You’re just lucky I can take a hit, and still function enough to make good tactical decisions.”

“Keep pressure on your shoulder, ” Clint says side-eyeing Natasha, blood oozing down her front. A pang of guilt hits him, he did that to her. He is responsible for her pain in this moment.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that. I don’t care that you shot me. I do care that the operation is compromised and you’re sentimentality is the reason for it.” Natasha shifts and groans, closing her eyes. 

“Hospital?” Clint inquires.

“I hate you Clint Barton.” She replies.

Clint smiles. “No you don’t, you’re just pissed I’m right.”

Clint put his foot down, speeding away from the scene of the crime. Let Shield clean up the mess that they’ve left. They’re going to have weeks of debrief and retraining anyway, whatever the outcome of this mission. He’s thankful that Natasha has been able to hold onto the briefcase that was the prized possession at the trade agreement before it all went to shit, and the fact that it’s currently sitting in the back seat of the car means that they’re likely to be a target for any retribution.

He pushes ahead, one hand now over Natasha’s pushing down to stem the bleeding. He focuses hard on losing any tails, and then makes his way to the abandoned offices they’d scouted a couple of days ago, for this exact reason. 

He focuses on the next thing. Tries not to think two steps ahead, because if he does that, he’ll spiral.

“What would you have done if it was me?” Clint asks, making Natasha talk in hopes that her ire will override dwelling on the pain.

“You made the decisions you made, with the best information you had at the time.” Natasha responds, her eyes rolling.

“I’ll be sure to put that in the mission debrief.”

Clint pulls up to into the car park, and they evacuate the car together. He grabs the briefcase and manhandles Natasha to the front door. 

“Hospital?” he repeats in question. 

“How good are your stitches?” Natasha replies. 

“Better than yours,” Clint says with a smirk. 

“Then that’ll be fine.”

They arrive at the top floor and camp, Clint places the briefcase in the venting system and gets to making the area as sterile as possible as Natasha pulls her jacket off one arm and then pulling it off her other. She unbuttons her shirt and Clint helps to take the rest off. He works at cleaning the wound and focuses on the aesthetic injections in both the front and the back. 

“I’m sorry.” He says looking at the damage he’s caused. 

“Don’t do that.” Natasha says harshly. “Don’t blame yourself. What if you didn’t? Maybe I’d be in a body bag instead of sitting with you." 

Clint shudders at the possibility. 

"I’m not saying you made the right decision… But maybe it wasn’t the wrong one.” Natasha concedes. 

Clint nods and gets to cleaning and stitching, having given the anaesthetic time to work it’s way into Natasha’s system.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day. She thinks to herself. One day she will be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Red Room horribleness, child abuse, and emotional abuse - also  
> Ded Moroz is the Russian Santa.

**One day. She thinks to herself. One day she will be free.**  
–

“You’re not good, Natalia. You are a bad little girl. You see those little girls over there? They are also not good. You’re here for a reason. You think anyone is coming for you? There is no Ded Moroz coming for any of you. No parents. No friends. No loved ones. No Christmas. You all deserve coal. What do they give to little girls who are so.. dirty?” The guard says unkindly.

“Now stop hiding. The more you hide the harsher the punishment. You understand?”

Natalia nods. Defiance written on her face as she stands and moves from her hiding spot.

He takes her down to the room the other girls call “the hole” and he pushes her inside.

“You get to stay here until tomorrow. Do not make any noise, or we will send you outside.”

Natalia climbs down the ladder and sits in the darkness. They make it seem like a punishment, but she likes it in here. It’s space to think and breathe away from the girls, away from the trainers and away from Madame’s ever watchful eyes.

One day. She thinks to herself. One day she will be free.

Natalia stretches her legs out, they almost hit the other side of the hole now, showing how much she has grown this year. She shivers at the breeze that comes from the underground and feels around for the blanket that the others have secretly pushed in here over the years. It’s threadbare, but enough to roll her body into and curl up. Natalia takes a deep breath, in and out, and thinks.

.

“There’s a darkness inside you,” the man says gleefully. “Your eyes, they tell me everything. I am entrusting you, because you are a bad girl. You can get things done like no one can, and in ways no-one has even thought of yet. You understand? This is a job, only for you.”

Natalia nods.

She does understand. She is not good. But that doesn’t mean she is bad.

She knows this.

She knows who she is.

And how she longs to be free of all this.

.

“I’m offering you freedom,” says the man with the bow and arrow on one side and sniper rifle and the other.

“Why would I come with you?” Natalia spits, blood running down her arm, her other handcuffed to the table.

“Because I’ve been watching you,” the man says, “there’s a light in you that no one has dulled. Come with me.”

Natalia scoffs and the man continues.

“I’ve read your file. What we could find anyway. And I know you are good. I know it.” He says it with such a certainty that it’s all Natalia can do to not flinch and move back away from his words.

“I am not good.” she responds.

“You are.” the man steps one step closer. “I can help you see it. I’ve been following you all year.”

He drops these bombshells like they are nothing.

All her life, she’s heard it. ‘You’re bad. Not good. Evil.” the words run from English to Russian, to Mandarin to French in her head until she has to close her eyes in the onslaught of words that have been yelled at her all her life.

“You feed the stray black cat when you’re in your flat in Bulgaria.” he starts.

“You read out loud and feed the pigeons in your house in England.”

“You visit the libraries in France and give recommendations to people in the same isle as you when they ask, and more than once you’ve paid for for someone else’s book.”

“You give directions even when you’re in a hurry, and you always wait for the traffic signals to turn before crossing the road, even if there is no-one around to see you do it.”

“You put money in the hands of children who are homeless to give to their parents and donate presents to orphanages at Christmas.”

He takes a breath. “Do you want me to continue?”

Natalia shakes her head, horrified. “Actually, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“You are good, Natalia. You’ll see. Come with me, be free of all this.”

She’s done.

Releasing her wrists out of the handcuffs, she breaks the window with them and pushes herself out the window. Dropping down to the street below, she hauls herself to her feet and looks up. The man is watching her.

“I’m not good.” She tells herself, not for the first time.

Knowing this requires unpacking, she glances once more at the man who’s brought doubt to her world view and runs.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Short Angsty Drabble Prompts from Tumblr

1/  
He nudges her gently, not wanting to use words. Whatever nightmare she was having, is making her sweat. In the light of the early morning, he can see the sheen and feel the heat coming off her. She mutters something, on the edge of waking, and moves further away from him, seemingly teetering back to sleep.

He’s tired and cranky. He’s played dream catcher as she’s had nightmares off and on, all night. Clint’s tried to keep watch over her but sleeps often won him over and, it seems, just as he’s falling deeper in the throes, he feels her fighting invisible foes, with jagged words and heartbreaking moans.

.

She’s first up in the morning. The flush of the toilet waking him. He follows suit, and meets her in the kitchen. Natasha wears fight on her face and she’s pissed at something he can see.

“Sleep well?” He antagonizes.

“Don’t nudge me.” Natasha returns. So, it did wake her then. Perhaps she angry at the loss of sleep.

“Even if you’re having a nightmare?”

Natasha turns her back on him, shaking her head and opening the fridge.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.” He retorts.

The hitch of her breath tells him everything. He closes the fridge and gathers her in a hug.

“It’s ok,” he whispers in her hair. “It’s ok.”

2/

It had been a shit show, Natasha and Tony were only just back on the jet with Tony heaving her up by her non-dislocated shoulder and seating her unceremoniously in the bucket seat next to Clint. Eyes of worry take her in, as she tries to reassure him that she’s ok. She is, mostly.

“Show me.” Clint says, standing over her. It puts her on edge and he must see the change on her face because he squats down next to her, eyes now level. He grips her hand and kisses her finger, making Tony’s eyes bug out, but he knows better than to comment on it, saves the ammo for later.

“Show me,” Clint repeats. She can almost block everyone out and for the moment she wishes it was just the two of them. It’s a preference for privacy. She shakes her head.

“Not here.” Natasha hopes he knows what she means. Not here, not in front of everyone. Don’t make me.

Clint sighs a heavy sigh and squashes in next to her. She suppresses a moan as he pushes against an open wound, and opens her eyes to hawk eyes watching her. Gathering her into his arms, he presses a kiss into her hairline and then gently places his forehead against hers.

“Don’t do that again, ok?” He speaks soft, only to her now. Her eyes are closed as relishes in the weight of his head against hers and for the moment she can imagine they’re in their place in Amsterdam looking over the canal with the sweet waft of breakfast coming from the shop underneath. Nodding gently, she dips her head down to his shoulder and keeps it there for the rest of the flight home.

3/  
“Come here,” Natasha says to Clint, as he limps slowly to her. All but collapsing into the couch, he groans and give a loud grunting sigh. She smiles, and then regrets it, as the curve of her lips cracks the skin and she can feel the drip of blood from her split lip.

Raising his leg onto another chair, she grabs a bandage and starts wrapping it, stabilizing it so that it’s functional. Until X-rays that is. She doesn’t think it’s broken, the underside not yet bruised, but she knows better than anyone, feet and ankles suck when they’re injured and seem to impede even the easiest of actions.

“No dancing for a while,” he says with a grimace as she places the tape on the end of the bandage. Shaking her head no, she sees sparks and regrets the action. Being hit in the head is also no fun, and Clint sees that she keeps her eyes closed for just a bit too long.

“Your turn.” He holds his hand out, helps her stand and sits next to her with the remnants of the first aide kit. Opening the steristrips, he gently places two over the cut on her head. Nausea rolls over her in waves and she holds her hand for him to stop. He draws circles on her back, giving her something else to concentrate on.

“Ok.” She says and he stops immediately, refocusing on the task of patching her up. She pulls back and rests on the back of the chair, head back and takes a deep breath through her mouth. Clint kisses her temple, and whispers that he’s done. They both stand tentatively, heading for the bedroom. Time to rest before heading home.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for talk of sterilisation and child abduction. This may be another one I continue.. hmm.

Someone is replicating the Red Room. 

It’s a personal vendetta of Natasha’s to shut it down as soon as it pops up. It’s happened before, multiple times over the years and every time she has been able to root out the source and take each one of them down. 

This time, the intel comes from Uzbekistan, she’s on the next plane as soon as Fury hands her the document and pours over every last detail looking for information and inconsistencies. The mission is supposed to be about gathering more information but it quickly descends into Russian conspiracies and a rabbit hole. 

It’s two weeks before she finds the location of the replication and the 12 girls that they are training as ruthlessly as she was. 

Clint helps with the debrief, and the rehoming of the girls who age from 4-9, he knows what makes a good foster home and whilst some of the girls are volatile, he has enough contacts to make sure they are safe. 

When all is done and they’re back home, Clint takes the time to cook Natasha her favourite meal and puts on the heater and makes their home a safe nest for her to be. They don’t talk about it, he knows now is not the time. He places the card of the Shield Psychologist that Natasha tolerates on the bench near her keys - a not so subtle reminder to take care of her mental health. 

“I’m fine,” she opens with, when they’re sitting at the table eating. 

“Mmmm..” Clint looks at his dinner, and responds non-commitally. 

“I am. It’s just. It solidifies my decisions to never have kids. Not that I could have them any way but look what happens - can you imagine? They’d come straight for them.” 

Clint doesn’t respond. Lets her debrief her own mind, in her own way. 

Natasha stops eating and looks down. 

“Do you think that they did anything with the… remains? When they took them out? Could they do anything? They couldn’t, right? My genetics.. they can’t be passed on, it’s not like a transplant?” 

Clint’s stomach drops. It’s not something he’s thought of, and clearly neither had Natasha up until this point. 

“I don’t know, Nat..” he says softly. 

She pushes away from the table. He follows her to the balcony, the cold air refreshing. She focuses on breathing. 

“I’ve never thought.. I’ve never wondered.. What if?” He breathing is staggered and the little gasps that come after every bombshell is heart wrenching to watch. It’s not something Clint can fix, help with or even give answers on. 

“Sit?” he suggests, and watches her body sink to the floor, knees curled. 

He balls up next to her, wraps his arms around her and reminds her how to breathe. 

“We’ll tackle it tomorrow,” he assures. “Let’s just watch the stars.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pineapples

“I can’t have that.” Natasha says, pushing away the pineapple.

Stark looks at her strangely. “What, are you allergic?”

“Something like that,” she says, non commitally.

He drops it, and shrugs. “More for me, I suppose.”

.

“I don’t eat that,” Clint says, pointing to the pineapple, “and I’d prefer if it’s not near me, so I can’t smell it.”

Steve looks at him and then shares a look with Tony.

“Why can’t you have it?” Tony asks, suspiciously.

“Ask Natasha.” Clint says, pulling his plate full of fruit and dried meats. “Where is she?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” Steve asks.

Clint laughs. “I’m not her keeper.”

Stark is about to say something when Natasha walks through the door and zeros in on the pineapple on the bench.

“I can’t have that.” She states, looking directly at Tony.

“God, what is wrong with you two? What happened with the pineapple?”

Clint and Natasha stare each other down, sharing a silent conversation before Clint laughs again, “Nothing. And let it go.”

Natasha sits next to him, as far away from the pineapple as possible.

“You guys are so weird.” Steve says rolling his eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

“How long?” Clint asks, tiredly.

“Until the tests come back.” Natasha says, closing her eyes.

“But we weren’t exposed for that long, right?”

“No. But I suppose because it’s radiation, we’re stuck here for as long as it takes.”

Natasha’s eyes are closed, tiredness overwhelming her. The white decontamination suits they’re dressed in dwarf her frame.

“So we just wait then?” Clint’s leg won’t stop bouncing, and he can’t stop rubbing his face.

“What else do you want to do?”

Natasha speaks with her eyes closed, her nonchalant attitude not helping Clint’s anxiety.

“Be anywhere but here.” He mutters.

Natasha puts her feet on the bench and swings her body to be lying down on Clint.

“It’ll be fine.”

As she says it, Clint sees Hill walk up to the decontaminated pod, and open it.

“You’re fine.” She announces. “Go to debrief, get some sleep, and stop setting off bombs.”

She walks off to the sound of Clint’s sigh of relief and Natasha’s laugh.

“Told you so. A bit of light radiation never killed anyone anyway.”

Clint shakes his head and helps her up. They walk back to their headquarters for debrief, the night not yet over despite everything so far.

“If I was stuck there with anyone, I’m glad it was you,” Natasha says, flippantly.

.


	18. Reasons not to kill my husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isolation is hard.

They have an apartment in Tokyo. It’s not a safe house. It’s theirs.

The life of a spy is not generally long, the life of a non-powered avenger, may be shorter. It’s the one place where they have trinkets, art and things that may or may not have been appropriated from places around the world.

They only come here when they have time off. Together or apart, either was fine and it was always met with jealousy when one was there and the other was not.

Nestled in Shinsaibashi, their tiny one bedroom apartment was above the Family Mart. They’d been sent away, and had been holed up for two weeks, due to the mafioso group they chased in Europe had started to chase them and Fury had given the order to ‘go to ground’.

So here they were.

Natasha was starting to go stir crazy. No missions, no work, nothing to keep her mind busy. Sure she could go explore but she’s set herself on self imposed isolation. If they notice her this place is gone. She usually loves it here.

Clint had started to get on her nerves, it’s little things. She’d considered murder a few times, knowing exactly how she’d do it (some clumsy accident, that people, who knew Clint would murmur, ‘seems about right’ and those that didn’t would think an unfortunate accident).

It was the start of the third week that she decided against killing him, and decided to think positively, and made a list in her head.

Reasons not to kill my husband.

She pauses.

Thinking.

_1/ Clint makes good coffee and restocks it without asking_

He even reheats hers when she’s forgotten to drink it.

_2/ He knows her triggers and is actively able to ground her when she’s panicking._

This should have been first. She thinks back and has many examples, the most recent of which was the noise of last night which had set her on edge, he’d known and pushed her into the shower, the water drowning everything and almost resetting her. He’d stopped it before it began.

_3/ Clint can fix things, the pipe when it leaks, the hole in the wall, the table leg when it breaks. She could probably do it, but doesn’t._

She thinks of all the times he’s asked for help to fix various things, and she’s begrudgingly helped. He’s kept this place together, changed lightbulbs and by his nature fixes what is broken.

_4/ Clint is like a lizard and is always cool, but will turn on the air conditioning when she complains she’s hot._

Natasha stops and sighs, it’s not him. It’s her. It’s all her. She’s the one making this difficult. Making their oasis tainted.

She tries to turn off her brain and open a book just as Clint walks through the door, hands full of grocery bags. She meets him, kisses him and helps by grabbing two of the bags as they unpack them in silence.

“I’m sorry.” She begins. “I’m not very good at being in one place.”

“It’s fine.” Clint smiles and pats her hand. “Plus, Fury called when I was out, we can leave.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, whenever you want.” Clint turns his back, and then sits on the closest chair.

“Maybe give us a week,” Natasha grins back.

.


	19. Chapter 19

Natasha has a temperature - which would be fine if they weren’t in the middle of the swiss alps trekking to the shield safe house. Clint feels like he’s in one of the scenes from 101 Dalmatians where he’s wiping their footprints whilst trying to nose Natasha on as much as possible. She’s not sick, she keeps telling him, but the unnatural redness in her cheeks 100% tells him she is. 

He knows that you don’t get sick from the cold (or more sick in this case), but it’s really not helping that Natasha keeps taking her hood and gloves off. He berates her and she rolls her eyes, puts her gloves back on, and then rinse repeat. He knows that it’s probably from something completely random like the shopping centre in Andermatt or their contact that’s given them paperwork that may indeed be contaminated but he just wishes it wasn’t so freaking inconvenient. They’re just starting this mission, the first of the year - is it too much to ask that it goes well?

Clint adjusts his backpack and tells Natasha, yet again to put her hood up, the wind billowing around them takes in her frustrated growl and he lets it drop. 

“Fine.” he mutters, die of hypothermia, he adds only to himself. He kind of wishes they had taken up the offer of the car when Fury had mentioned it in debrief, but Natasha had said it would only draw attention. He doubts it, being here now. The snow will cover any tracks and whoever is out here now must really want the information they have - which Clint concedes, is next to nothing. 

As the house comes into sight, he breathes hard and huffs in relief. He can see Natasha almost dropping, and she hasn’t even bothered to pull her backpack up as it’s fallen off her shoulders. She sneezes suddenly, and looks sheepish as she wipes her face with her glove, not daring to look at Clint to acknowledge that he may indeed be correct. It’s his turn now, to roll his eyes, but instead pushes past her and opens up the house, sucking in a breath at how cold it is. At least there is wood to start a fire, he supposes. 

“You ok?” he checks in.

“Yeah, you?” comes a gravelly reply.

Clint does this time, roll his eyes, so that she can see, he’s pulled his hood away from his face. If she’s not going to admit it, he’s not going to worry. (Of course he is)

“You want warming up the hot water pipes or logs on the fire?” he instructs, dolling out jobs.

“Fire,” she choose, and Clint knows, it because she’s dead on her feet, and placing wood on the fire is more a matter of tetris than heavy labour. He heads to the mains box, and turns on the electricity, feeling it thrum through the house. The microwave beeps and the tiny fridge in the corner doesn’t make a sound but he can hear the electrical buzz fill the room.

He takes the electrical heating tape from his bag and plugs it into the power point, thankful that he has a universal plug in his bag. He lays under the sink and wraps it carefully, turning the water on. Leaving it to do it’s job, he fills up the kettle and boils the water, sighing and staring out the window, planning the mission in his head, taking now into account that his partner is sick.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions with mistletoe. From a prompt list from tumbr.

The touchdown of a plane is never smooth, there’s the wheels coming down, the churning of engines, and the inevitable bump, bump bump along the runway. Then there’s the taxi-ing. Natasha is used to this, she’s used to this in a quinjet, she’s used to this flying commercial, what she isn’t used to is flying commercial with 48 stitches up her leg and a bruise that goes from her sternum to pelvis. It makes things.. painful. 

Her neighbour mistakes her grimaces for fear of flying, and marks her closed eyes down to not wanting to know what’s happening, rather than the pulling of the stitches and pain it carries. She can’t take a deep breath, and blow it out her nose, and really she just curses this whole mission and having to stay undercover until the last, just in case. The elderly woman next her comments on something, and she is sure it is supposed to be reassuring but Natasha drowns her out by turning up her music and focusing on the lyrics, tiredness overcoming her.

By the time the plane comes to a halt, she can feel the sweat of being enclosed and the pain of her injuries take on board and all she wants to do is leave. So, she becomes someone she dislikes, and as soon as the seatbelt sign is off, she’s standing and grabbing her bags. She’s not moving anywhere (because you never do - they have to unseal the doors and then of course first and business class gets priority) before letting the cattle class out; but, the sheer act of standing is helpful. Natasha turns back on her phone and smiles as she sees a text from Clint. 

Knock before coming in, Lucky ate something he shouldn’t and there’s vomit at the front door I’m in the process of cleaning.

Natasha re-reads the text and a laugh bubbles up from inside. Messages back and finally the hoard of people starts to move. 

The cab ride is uneventful and she makes to the apartment in good time, it’s close to midnight and she’s ready to drop. Natasha makes some lists in her head and puts alarms on her phone to make sure she doesn’t miss the debriefing tomorrow at 8-freaking-am. If Fury hated her, he’s sure being creative about it. 

Approaching the front door, she raps on it loudly, hoping Clint can hear her over the Christmas music that blasting from the apartment. She waits and then knocks again, Lucky starts to bark, and she knows he’s now alerted Clint to her presence. The inevitable door opening palooza starts with Clint pulling back Lucky from taking her down and him trying command his dog to stay and wait. But it doesn’t happen. It’s then when she realises Clint is only wearing an apron that says “kiss the chef” on it. He’s naked. With an apron on. 

Lucky gets away from him, and wraps himself around her legs, tail hitting her stitches as she bends down to pat him in hello. 

“Nat!” Clint says with alarm. “Stay right there.” 

She stands and pauses, waiting like a bomb is going to go off, wondering if she’s stepped in dog vomit or cleaning supplies. He laughs at her concern and from the pockets of the apron brandishes mistletoe. Holding it above her head, he kisses her. Lips, nose, neck and holds her head in his hands. 

“I’ve missed you!” he announces enthusiastically. Natasha shakes her head and smiles big. God, she is glad to be home.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This had the potential to go darker but I kept it at the medium/dark - warnings of blood/vomit/death but nothing graphic?
> 
> .

“Tell me Tasha, what can you hear?”

“Voice, you.”

“See?”

“Blood.” She stares at her hands and wipes them on her pants, over and over until he has to catch her hands and hold them.

“Taste?” He feels he knows that answer already, given the previous one.

“Blood… mine.. I think?”

“Smell?”

“Blood. It’s all blood. It’s clawing.. dripping..” She distresses, falling tears mark streaks in dirt on her face.

She gags harshly, spitting blood from her mouth, again and again until she throws up bile and blood.

Clint’s at a loss, he’s not sure what to do next, just holds her hair back and keeps one hand in hers, letting her squeeze it until he can’t feel his fingers.

“We have to move,” she states. And while yes this is true, Clint reasons she’s probably shouldn’t be moving at all.

He thinks it’s a concussion, maybe from the concussion grenade that went off ten minutes ago but it could also be, well, Natasha retreating into her past. Grounding doesn’t always work, in fact sometimes it’s worse, any coping mechanisms she’s built up are sometimes just not strong enough.

Slowly he helps her to her feet, hoping that movement might help with whatever is going on in her head. He side steps around the broken bodies of 2 supposed hydra agents, and he imagined a John Wick style fight going down, there’s office supplies everywhere and anything sharp is either poking out of them or smashed up.

He’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with any sort of clean up, because there’s another two that he helps Natasha over as they leave. She’s lethal in a fight, they all know this, sometimes he forgets just how much.

He helps her down the stairs to his car that’s waiting with the keys inside, she spits blood before she gets in and he takes his jacket off for her to sit on in the car.

There’s no alarms, no one chasing them, and seems all quiet as he pulls away. He keeps a hand in Natasha’s as he focuses on the road, heading straight for the tarmac to depart.

“We’re you able to get it?” He asks tentatively.

When she doesn’t answer he looks over, her head is lolling to the side and her eyes aren’t focusing.

He can’t pull over in fear of anyone following, but goddamn now he’s worried about the concussion. Cursing loudly to himself, he rubs her leg and calls her name.

“Nat? Natasha?”

She give a slurry answer and he reaches up to tap her chest, his hand now covered in blood.

“Natasha, tell me something.” Anything is what he doesn’t add.

“Whatdyawannakno,” comes from her in one breath and then a cough.

“Tell me your favourite animal.” He makes up. He puts his foot down and tries to drive a little faster.

“No animals, they die first.” He rolls his eyes, a throwback to conversations they’ve had in the past where animals are always sacrificed and she’ll never get one because it’s an easy way to get to her. Never mind she has a stray cat that’s pretty much hers.

“Ok… Favourite time of year?” He asks, at least she’s talking even if it’s not making complete sense.

“Trees. I like trees.” Clint takes a breath, swearing again.

“Nat. Your favourite time of year? What season do you like the best?”

“You. Tree’s. Lights.”

He’s so not getting anywhere but in fear of her brain stopping working he keeps trying.

And then it clicks.

“Nat, is Christmas your favourite time of year?”

She bobs her head and then her head arches like she’s going to vomit, but manages to keep it down.

“Stop moving your head,” he admonishes.

“Trees. Lights. You.” She repeats.

He’s worried that she’s not able to draw the sentence together. Worried that even though she’s following his train of thought it’s not coherent.

“What’s the best part of Christmas?” He tries, hoping for another answer.

“Lights. Dancing lights.” Her eyes close softly.

.


	22. Chapter 22

_I hung my heart out to dry_

_On rooftops under blue skies_

_No, I never would have grown if I’d never been alone_

_So when I find my love, I'ma bring it on home._

_\- Bring it on home - American Authors_

Clint is sad. Not for any particular reason. Life just seems… monotonous.

Nothing changes, things are fine. They’re fine. But still. Clint feels sad.

.

Natasha is frustrated. She’s not angry, she’s not emotional, things are ok but there’s a crawling under her skin that makes her short tempered and constantly on edge.

She’ll get over it. She’s just frustrated.

.

Clint finds Natasha shooting pot shots in the middle of an abandoned golf course, she’s whacking the shit out of golf balls then lining them up to shoot once they land. He stays and watches her, it’s oddly soothing, the whack of the golf club; the shot of the gun. It’s grounding in a strange way, the noises, it keeps the thoughts out of his head. But then, being with her, always gives him a sense of calm.

.

Natasha finds Clint pulling arrows and then lining them up and shooting them. Every ten arrows takes him 5 minutes and she finds her self marking time with it. The thwack of the arrow hitting the mark is quite possibly the best sound ever. He’s magic.

.

Emotions ebb and flow, as all things do. Clint recognises the happy in the moment and allows it to flow over him, grateful for what it is. Natasha searches for the calm and discovers that it’s not as far from her grasp as she once thought.

They find solace in each other, emotions bleeding and focusing and it always seems easier with each other, it’s almost like finding home.

.


End file.
